


Spacing Out

by ASchmidts



Series: The Relativity-Verse [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A Minimum of Handwavy Science, Alternate Universe - Space, Artificial Intelligence, Astronaut!Steve, Einstein's Relativity Theory, Loneliness, M/M, Online Relationship, Slice of Life, Snippets, WIP, good ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29119170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASchmidts/pseuds/ASchmidts
Summary: >> UPDATE: There is now a companion piece for references! <<Steve's spaceship is rushing through space at close to light speed and still accelerating. This is a one-man mission, but, hey, he's got a companion chatbot! Because, yes, there was not enough budget for another shipmate, but still too much invested of it for him to go crazy on them.This is one-man-one-AI space opera set in very close quarters that keep contracting. Get in for the Stony, stay for the point-and-click edutainment games in space.
Relationships: Peggy Carter & Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: The Relativity-Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2145012
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	1. Morning.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [M_Samro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Samro/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Straight on till Morning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8692669) by [Sineala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala). 



> These will be slice-of-life snippets or conversations occurring at multiple points in the timeline of a (much) bigger story I plan to write.  
> This is also the first fanfiction I write, so constructive feedback is very much appreciated and will move mountains. 
> 
> Updates occur as life and the muse allow. As soon as the general story is in shape, I might get something approaching an updating schedule. 
> 
> Rating may be subject to change. Skins might be added as both story and writer's abilities progress. The author hates bad grammar but is typo-blind, so if you notice *anything*, from wrong if-clauses, to typos, to bad tenses, etc, please yell at me in the comments/via PM.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An arbitrary point in time that occurs after waking and before sleeping.

**Space, now.**

They are out of comms’ reach by the time Steve wakes up. Or rather, is woken up. No time to dawdle in space. The alarm beeps rhythmically, while cabin lights power up to an orange glow around him. In half an hour, the lights will shine upon him with the crisp white of an early morning. It is six AM shiptime.

He allows himself another ten minutes in bed.

The night was one of the worse ones, but Steve shrinks from examining the details. He knows why he is on edge. Today is _it_. The first day without real human contact, the day he will meet his new travel companion. A chatbot. Because, yes, there was not enough budget for another shipmate, but still too much invested of it for him to go crazy on them. But no, _don’t go there Steven Grant Rogers_ , these are dangerous thoughts -- so he deliberately distracts himself by planning, gazing up at the orange LEDs in the corners of the ceiling. Should he simulate seasons via the ship’s light conditions? On the one hand, losing mental health over a fake seasonal lack of UV seems incredibly stupid. The shrinks down at base would certainly not condone that. On the other hand, he was on a mission near the equator for half a year once, and the lack of change in the seasons there had led to a slight feeling of derealisation. Like sitting in a high-res open-world game whose programmers only had had cash for one single day, which they would just loop endlessly. He had been glad to return stateside. _And he will again_ , in just about two years shiptime. He can do this. Time to get up.

Grabbing them from the vent above his head, Steve decides that the socks are good for another day. They just spent eight hours on top of an air-filter and thus barely smell at all. Being an astronaut will turn you into a very pragmatic individual, _or a slob_ , as his ma would have said. But, priorities -- there is only so much water he can use at a time before the circle system hands it back to him. Besides, he does keep a regular showering schedule. _For whose sake is he even arguing this?_ Steve puts on the socks.

***

After that little lapse, Steve takes care of showering and brushing his teeth in the usual allotted time and finishes dressing in under three minutes. The walk over to the console of the main control room still feels straining to his whole body. The ship is accelerating, and will be for several months, until they reach cruising speed. Right now, Steve’s body is straining against 1.5 g. He doesn’t complain. Getting to stand instead of floating around and losing bone mass is definitely _great_. Also, when he gets back, he will most likely look like Mister Universe. Haha.

The main console wakes up at the press of a button. No touchscreens unless they are really necessary. Everything up (down? Sideways?) on the ship has to be as easy to replace and repair as possible, and Steve can do a lot, but he is definitely no semiconductor factory. There is also less shiny metal everywhere than anyone having watched _2001_ would think. The radiation would kill him otherwise. Instead, there is mostly white polymer, interspersed with grey ergonomic handles. Still, he gets to have his edgy futurism. An AI, pre-trained by psychologists for this mission, but still depending on his input to fit. _Supervised learning_ , it’s called, they told him. So if his new companion says _“Are you sad, Steve?”_ , he better not lie. He presses the button.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you *so much* for reading this in spite of the author note! You are great! 
> 
> All links to articles used as science reference will be made available upon request. If any actual scientists are in the audience -- help! I will go as deep into Physics and Psychology as I can as a layperson, but at some point I might make a huge blunder. In that case, please yell at me via comments/via PM, as well.


	2. Time Dilation.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clock on a shooting star ticks more slowly than ours.

**Earth, Northern Hemisphere, Boston, MIT, t-3.**

Now that the party in his living room is in full swing, nobody seems to be able to see him, or if they do -- some _definitely_ do -- they don’t _listen_ (One day, when they need him, he will do this right back to them, to these people. He _really_ will.).

Tony sighs. Not internally. Has actually never bothered with internally. Even fully drunk past the point of a pleasant buzz, this party is boring boring boring boring. Why is everyone so _slow_? The stupidity, he just. Does. Not. Get. It. How do these people go to college? He knows he is drunk, but wasn’t this the _point_? Nothing works. Maybe people just revert to apes as soon as they file out of the lecture hall. He hazards a glance towards the huddle on the couches and corrects himself – not just any apes: bonobos.

He burps up some bubbles from the Jacky Cola.

In some other frame of mind Tony would have found this _hot_ , but it is nearing Christmas and his parents have only called once, to wheedle him into coming to some kind of charity event for some great and noble cause and Thanksgiving, family dinner attached, and all of it was just _awful_ and he is standing in a corner of his own living room, at his own end-of-term-party, like the most pathetic dork in a high school movie. A really bad high school movie. He slumps a little further against the wall.

Usually, at this point of the evening, he would just liberally throw money at it and/or invite some cheerleaders, change the location to some club and draw an even bigger crowd in the process. These evenings usually end with Tony speed-dialing Rhodey, who already knows the drill ( _catch that?_ ) – move people out, move Tony to couch, move bin to Tony. But not today. Rhodey has already gone home to his parents' place, and if he goes missing tonight, there will be no-one to properly interpret his unintelligible, slurred Tony-speak and carry him home, apart from people who really should not do any kind of Tony home-taking whatsoever. Not that he has not repeatedly tried this option before, he is, after all, Tony Stark. If he is also muttering that last part to himself, at least no-one seems to take notice of it, either. _Silver linings._ So tonight, he trudges over to his bedroom instead, half-heartedly shoos the couple on the bed away, and wakes up his laptop.

It is for moments like these that Tony has written a script. A simple one, really. It just randomly shows him threads from /space or /particlephysics or /astrophysics or /aeronautics. Or /futurism, for the laughs. Sometimes he answers them until his head hits the keyboard. Tonight, there is one that makes him want to _deliberately_ drop his head on his desk _,_ though. Someone asked a really cute question about relativity and the answer that has been upvoted is just plain WRONG! So what if the thread is nearly ten years old and has already been closed? He has to rectify this insult to science immediately. There are innocent souls out there that need saving; saving from this tragic and utter butchering of one of the _coolest theorems of all time_. He hacks the site and posts his comment. Then he moves on to the next. And the next. And the next.

***

When he wakes up the next morning, his head hurts, his eyes feel swollen and his teeth feel like they are coated in some really gross sandpaper. On the bright side, he has obviously been sleeping in his own bed and there is only a minimum amount of strangers sleeping in the bathtub and on the couches. He is also alone in bed, which is both a relief and a dull, constant disappointment.

There is a single message in his inbox. It is from 06:00 AM and says: “Thanks. SGR.”


	3. Lorentz Contraction.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The earth suddenly rushes up to smash and fry the satellite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to, listen to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u8ijtDuM92c&;list=PLB8B45273ED41ADAD&;index=2) to set the mood.  
> (Thom Hanreich - Tied Down)
> 
> I had the song on repeat for writing this, next to this [haunting adaptation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0QcRohFZk8A) by the great singers Dota Kehr and Sarah Lesch.

_Wherever I may travel,_

_I go to nowhere-land._

_My suitcase full of yearning,_

_Tchotchkes in my hand._

_As lonely as the desert wind,_

_As homeless as the sand–_

_Wherever I may travel,_

_I come to nowhere-land._

**Earth, Nowhere, Somewhere, t-4.**

The sun sets at other times and burns more strongly. They are in a country where half the population wants them gone and the other half dreads what would happen were they to leave. Steve makes friends. Steve makes a truce with “Judy” Simona Cortez Pereño from the FET by not calling her Judy. Some people might not like him for this, but here, in a place where he does not need to be at home, he feels more alive than he has in a long time.

_***_

Bucky falls. One second he is there, carefully swivelling the IED in front of his boots. Then he crashes to the ground, thirty feet in front of Steve. In the space between two more heartbeats, Chaz falls to the sound of sniper fire. Bam.

Steve drops and drags Kid down with him. “DOWN!”. Drags him over to the brick wall on their right. Behind them, Simona has fallen into a crouch, moved over to the wall and is already calling for air support. Steve’s head whips back to the front. Kuz has dropped as soon as Bucky went down, but he is still right in the middle of the road. He has not moved. _Frozen or incapacitated?_ Another round of shots ring out, there is no time for questions. Steve shouts at Conor to prepare a tourniquet and runs back onto the road.

Less than twenty minutes later, it is over. EOM. Kuz has indeed been shot in the leg and is now sitting in the front of the medevac helicopter, while the Kid and Steve are loading Bucky and Chaz’ bodies into the back. Steve does not want to make Kuz ride in a helo with his dead friends. But he also does not want Kuz to lose his leg. He pats Kuz' shoulder and turns back to the rest of his platoon. They get back behind the wire. There are debriefs. He hugs the Kid and pats Simona on the back. Then he retreats to his office to do the paperwork.

_***_

Kuz will be sent back to the States as soon as he is stable. For Buck and Chaz, the jet goes out tomorrow. Their second set of dogtags, the one from their left boot, will stay here, with Steve. He starts on the paperwork. Full Name? _James Buchanan Barnes, Chase Long_ _._ Rank? _Sergeant, Private First Class._ Social Security Number. Unit. Circumstances of Death. NOK. Next of Kin. _Oh God._

Steve calls the 1-800 number and finishes the report. While he calls, he looks at the picture of their unit on his desk. It sits in a little frame. Two people in the picture are gone now, yet in their little frame, all of them are smiling. Their eyes are crinkled against the glare of the sun, barely visible slits. He places the picture in his desk drawer and sets his desktop picture back to preset. Steve suddenly cannot remember the color of Bucky’s eyes. _Oh god._

_***_

_The forests, they have vanished,_

_The houses, they have burnt._

_Found not a single soul here,_

_No-one that knows my name._

_And when the strange bird hollered,_

_I just turned and ran –_

_Wherever I may travel,_

_I come to nowhere-land._

**Earth, Northern Hemisphere, New York, t-3.**

They get back to the states six months later. Steve has led several more missions and lost no-one. Simona has told him that Kuz will keep his leg thanks to him. He has slept at night and been awake by day, because that is what you do. There are no dreams, and no one asks him about them, because that is what you do, too.

He gets a flat. He signs his papers for the IRR. He does not go to his old neighbourhood.

There is a memorial service, wreaths, flags over caskets. The caskets are empty. The headstones and the urns have been put up over half a year ago, while Steve was on the other side of the earth. _Still,_ _it was I who_ _c_ _arried them_ _to_ _the grave,_ Steve thinks, a little hysterically. He stands tall in the front row in his dress robes, while silently, Chaz’ family weeps again. When he goes over to them to offer his condolences, their faces are white and flat, like stone.

Becca is not at the service, but when he comes back out into the parking lot, she is there. He goes over to her, because that is what you do. He suspects she knows that he has a new ribbon on his chest, with a tiny “v” on it. _Valour._ She does no shout at him. She just collapses against him, _like,_ _like,_ _like a person who lost their last next of kin._ He hugs her, gives her his phone number. Because that is what you do. Steve hopes she never calls.

Back in his apartment, he makes himself a coffeepot, black, lots of sugar, boots up his private laptop, opens the browser and starts cleaning up eight years worth of bookmarks.

***

It is six AM when he finds an old bookmark from university, sophomore year. The first year of his ROTC scholarship. He had taken astrophysics 101, because he had wanted to understand why Bucky was so crazy about space, and also, if Bucky had to miss college and go to Army, then Steve could at least tell him about it. In their first lecture, their professor hat used simple trigonometry to blow Steve’s mind right out of the lecture hall window: _Everything that moves freely follows a straight path through spacetime; Even as it burns in the atmosphere, the clock on a shooting star ticks more slowly than ours._

When the first assignment had rolled around, he had been really unsure of his answer. So he had posted his question. The numbers the internet gave back to him were different from his own, though, and in the end he had left the question blank.

But now, just one hour ago, somehow, someone somewhere on this planet has found his thread and posted an extremely helpful answer… seven years late. _Still, that’s nice._ He sends the user a private message. Then he goes for a run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem used in this chapter is "Kein Kinderlied" by Masche Kaleko. The title translates to "No Children's Song". The translation into EN is mine, so please tell me if you have suggestions on how to improve it.
> 
> If any of you are/were members of the US Army, or any armed forces, or know people who are, and think that this is a misrepresentation, please write me a comment so I can fix this. I mean to hurt no-one.


	4. Snow.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _n._
> 
> **1.** Frozen precipitation consisting of hexagonally symmetrical ice crystals that form soft, white flakes. **2.** […]Something resembling snow, as: **a.** The white specks on a television screen resulting from weak reception. **b.** _Slang_ Cocaine. **c.** _Slang_ Heroin.
> 
> _v.tr._
> 
> **1.** To cover, shut off, or close off with snow: _We were snowed in._ **2.** _Slang_ To overwhelm with insincere talk, especially with flattery. _**Phrasal Verb:**_ **1.** To overwhelm: _I was snowed under with work._ **2.** To defeat by a very large margin.
> 
> \- The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written while listening to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HZzIUr9rFBU) on repeat, but I recommend listening to [ Eric Satie's Gymnopédie Number One](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-Xm7s9eGxU) while reading it.  
> 

**Earth, still Northern Hemisphere, Boston, MIT, t-3.  
**

Two days later, on December 24th, the Christmas cheer is officially at its max and Tony is sitting in a taxi to Boston airport. He does not carry anything apart from a wallet, a small paper bag with gifts and his electronics. Everything else is either irrelevant, at his parents’ place, or at duty free.

He brainstorms blueprints on his pad until minute 0.5 of the trip, then they actually hit rush hour traffic and the start-stop of the taxi makes it impossible to sketch anything apart from seismic waves. So he gets back to the mystery message in his inbox from two days ago.

Tony had been puzzled by it, at first. Or more like _totally freaked_ _out_ , because he could not remember having done anything unusual the night before. A dry thank-you note with _initials_ via email? _Who even uses email anymore?_ Did he pledge his liver? Fulfill some twisted sexual fantasy? But at this point of the argument, his mother had called and invited him to come home for Christmas, so he had gone shopping for gifts and left the mystery for tomorrow’s Tony. _You go me._

Who is him now. _Thanks a lot me._ He scans the header of the message again and remembers: He has used the script. The guy has come via the forum’s messaging system, thank _god_. So before he starts the difficult process of finding out from which thread, exactly, Tony sends back a cautionary **//You are welcome, but I did it for Science.**

There, _nailed it!_ In case he has repeated _that error_ of mixing innuendo with physics _again,_ his true intentions have hereby been made clear. Then Tony tucks the phone away as it nearly flies all across the car. He has arrived at Boston airport.

***

They are calling out his name for the third time when he gets to the gate. He smiles at the attendants, flashes his passport and smiles to himself as he is led past the other passengers to first class.

***

When Tony steps out onto the curb on Fifth Avenue, the wind throws small icicles into his eyes and whips through his jeans. His trainers are standing in the city’s most cheaply available semifreddo. By the time he is finally being buzzed into the lobby, his nose is running. _New York, New York._

The door closes behind him, and there is the same smell of shoe polish in his nose, the same dark wood paneling around him and a polite voice of memory in his ears: “ _There you are,_ _little_ _Sir_.” Then he blinks, sees Mathilda, his parent’s current housekeeper. Madam asks you to change before dinner and meet her in the drawing room.

He goes upstairs, showers, shaves ( _thanks for the genes, dad_ _),_ dresses in the things laid out for him but leaves the tie on the bed. Then he checks on the Christmas gifts. Heavy Tiffany earrings for Maria, tickets for the Cambridge Science Festival he knows Howard will not attend. He had originally planned to gift his father a Yamazaki, first edition, but his mother will be upset if he brings up his father's drinking on Christmas, so in the end, the bottle is his to keep. _Too bad, we might_ _finally_ _have agreed on something this way, once_ _._

***

Tony joins his mother in the drawing room in front of the empty fireplace. They hug, she kisses his two cheeks. She smells like incense, expensive and wooden. The color of her costume matches the tie he did not put on. _Aha. Bet_ _you_ _I know the colour of dad’s pockets_ _s_ _qu_ _a_ _re_ _now_ _, mom?_

Maria inquires about his flight, Rhodey. Does he like his studies. Has he made some other friends yet. He knows she could talk to Linda on his behalf so he gets more lab time, right? Would he like to come to the Hamptons with them, they are leaving for Montauk tomorrow after lunch. “… and you can just shop your clothes when we get there, darling. Wouldn’t that be nice, Tony? Getting to meet all your friends from high school again. I am _sure_ they would be happy to see you.” _Yes, everyone will_ _definitely_ _be overjoyed to_ _see_ _the upstart_ _again, mom._

“Not really my crowd anymore, mom”, he replies, “Besides, I have a project to finish.” Deflection time: “So, what have you been up to, mom?”

New York between Thanksgiving and New Year is a flurry of galas, benefits, happenings. Maria has been busy planning seating arrangements, writing speeches for his father and coddling the wives of potential business partners or, as she says, “good friends”. She is organising a benefit gala on New Year’s Eve “...between friends, with a little raffle for charity. Imagine, Louis gave us one of his boats. His boats, darling! I suspect, he secretly wishes to win it back...!” Over her little giggle, a door closes one room away. Howard has left the study.

“Oh, your father has joined us. How do you feel about dinner, darling?”

***

Silence is covering the room like snow an uneven hillside. If Tony slouches just enough, he might be able to hide behind the Christmas centrepiece. He straightens up in his chair. He was right about the pocket square.

His mother is all capital-letters Christmas Cheer. “...soo glad we can come together this Christmas as a family! We _do_ miss you when you are in Boston.” She beams at Tony and Howard. Amuse-bouche and champagne arrive on silver trays. They toast. Tony drains his glass. Maria looks at him, then quickly over his shoulder to Mathilda, who has entered the room with soup. “Wonderful Mathilda, you are, like always, right on time!”

They have velvet soup “Miró”.

They have smoked mackerel on apricot, almond and tomme de chèvre.

They have lamb loin with lemon chutney and spicy yogurt.

The evening cycles, from white.

To rosé.

To red.

***

“Oh, I am soo sorry Ms Kono has to leave us after New Year’s Eve.” _Figures_ _._ “But isn’t her food simply divine? I am _soo_ lucky she is helping me in Montauk, I would be _soo_ lost without her.” Another giggle.

Espresso arrives together with tiny chunks of cardamon semifreddo and even tinier pitchers of molten chocolate. Tony has barely finished the ice cream when Howard gets up, moves over to the cabinet in the corner, takes a bottle and pours himself two fingers of amber liquid into a heavy tumbler. _Like a boss._

Maria’s smile grows one inch wider and she turns her head to face Tony: “So, dear, have you been learning anything you like recently?” _So,_ _m_ _om,_ _can_ _I_ _have_ _just_ _one Christmas where we don’_ _t_ _play the telephone game?_

He thinks of Dummy, and two other follow-up projects. That just do. Not. Progress. Because he has to make do with leftover lab time at odd hours of the day because all the robotics societies _hate_ him. _But no mom, please don’t ask Linda._

“I have been building an autonomous workshop assistant, mom.”

“Ooohh, isn’t that _wonderful_ , Howard? What does it do?”, his mother coos. Tony continues. “He fetches tools, cleans surfaces, stuff like that. He is voice activated, he learns by observing me and making mistakes. He–” His father leans one elbow on the table, his glass swinging in front of Tony’s nose, his face inscrutable “Is it stable?” “Well, he crashes from time to time, sometimes he does things differently than how I showed them, but that is just him optimising his betting behaviour by trial and error, I think…. maybe you’d like to see him, dad?”

His father leans back, puts the tumbler down, spreads both of his palms onto the tabletop. “Anthony, you know I am busy. Ask me again when you have moved beyond drafts, just once.” _D_ _rafts?_ “Dad, he–” There is a vertical line between his father’s eyebrows now. “Anthony, do I need to repeat myself?” Well, this is not the first time Tony has heard this and he is _so_ done. _Fuck_ _Holiday_ _Spirit._

“Ok _look_ _dad_ , you are too busy to look at _anything_ I do, I know. _Seriously,_ how am I supposed to start helping with Stark Industries if you never look at what I _do_? Yeah, that’s right, never. Just keep me completely out of the loop until you die, right dad? Is that your great plan for avoiding a _Buddenbrook_?”

Howard’s expression becomes a carefully constructed blank, and he finally looks Tony in the face. Actually, Tony knows that his father is looking at some point between his eyebrows, right now. “Stop being childish, Anthony. There is no way that I am letting you even close to an S.I. _excel spreadsheet_ the way you are right now.”

That one hits closer to home than Tony would have expected. He tries for cheerful: “Wow thanks dad, tough love. Am I really that unreliable?” His father’s left eyelid twitches. “Do I need to draw your attention to your latest exploits in the ‘Boston Herald’, again? And your escapades that greatly amused the whole nation after Thanksgiving?” Tony’s mouth moves a little more on its own accord: “Funny how my escapades never _escape_ your attention, dad. As to improve business efficiency, should I just send you executive summaries of them in the future?” With that, the situation finally spins out of control, quick and ugly. Mid-sentence, Howard is up, his chair scraping on the floor. His face contorts as he bellows: “TO YOUR ROOM, ANTHONY!” Ok, that does it. Tony gets up from the table, turns towards the doorway. “You know what dad, no. You want me to be an adult, I will be the adult. Thanks for dinner, it was amazing. Your presents are under the tree.”

His mother has found her voice again: “Where are you going?” _Yeah, fuck Holiday Spirit._ Viciously, he replies: “ _H_ _ome_.” A heavy gasp from his mother. As he closes the door, he hears his mother’s voice calling after him, muffled through heavy oak: “At least take the jet!” Last thing Tony sees before the door completely closes is Howard, who is pouring himself two new fingers of Whiskey into his tumbler.

***

In the jet, his attendant is a new one. “I am sorry, but we cannot serve alcoholic beverages to minors, sir. “ Tony sprawls wider in his seat. He is still wearing the suit, and one month of his allowance is probably half a year of her salary.

“You can’t, or you won’t?

When he steps onto the tarmac one and a half hour later, he stumbles briefly, then waves at the preordered taxi to come pick him up right were he stands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fleshing this story out feels like trying to juice kumquats, but we will get there, eventually :)


	5. Photon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waves; also, particles.

**Earth, Northern Hemisphere, Boston, MIT, t-3, post-Holiday cheer.**

Tony charges into the flat straight from the taxi, plugs his phone in, changes out of the suit, wakes up his PC, turns the volume of his headphones to “listening to music at high volume can lead to a loss of your sense of hearing please press ‘OK’ to confirm you wish to proceed” levels of noise and breaks the seal on the Yamazaki. Fires up two coding environments and the CAT tool. _Drafts_. He will show them _drafts_.

***

Later, It is dark outside, all components of the computer are close to 100% load; forced downtime. _Ugh._ Tony takes his phone from the charger next to his third cup of coffee and opens the mystery conversation again. He's got mail! And he remembers the thread! Baby relativity! _This one can't be too bad._

**22.12. 06:02AM SGR: Thanks. SGR.**

**24.12. 03:23 PM T: You are welcome, but I did it for Science.**

**25.12. 05:58 AM SGR: Ok?**

Tony types.

**25.12. 06:30 AM T: I mean I get that I sound rude but I cannot just leave some bullshit answer out there.**

**25.12. 06:30 AM T: Someone might read it.**

**25.12. 06:30 AM T: You read it.**

**25.12. 06:31 AM T: Why did you read it, SGR?**

His PC unfreezes again. Great, he can just redo half of it. Time to get coffee.

**25.12. 07:45 AM T: You posted it seven goddamn geological ages ago…**

He makes some headway. When he notices he has not slept since Christmas Eve, five more hours have passed. He starts another simulation and crashes on the couch. _Rinse and repeat._

**26.12. 09:50 AM T: Hey, what does SGR stand for?**

**26.12. 12:00 AM T: Samuel Thomas Robertson**

**26.12. 12:01 AM T: Sean Timothy Richards**

**26.12. 01:11 PM T: Wait that was a G**

**26.12. 01:13 PM T: Simon Graham Reed**

**26.12. 01:13 PM T: Stefano Gustavo Reváz**

**26.12. 01:18 PM T: Sasukeno Gokazoku Rashinu.**

He is ready to give it a rest, or at least search for some more diverse name combinations, when, against all odds and prior observation, his phone vibrates.

**27.12. 01:25 PM SGR: Still Grieving Right Now. Are you that bored?**

He stares at the message for a little too long and his vision blurs. Ok, coffee time Tony. On the way over to the sink he starts typing.

**27.12. 01:26 PM T: Wow hi there**

**27.12. 01:26 PM T: You speak Japanese. Or can use a search engine and your brain.**

**27.12. 01:27 PM T: Just like I did.**

**27.12. 01:27 PM T: Amazing.**

**27.12. 01:27 PM T: Cool**

**27.12. 01:28 PM T: Oh my god are you a woman**

**27.12. 01:29 PM T: You are a woman aren’t you.**

**27.12. 01:30 PM T: I mean I saw your initials in a physics thread and immediately thought you were male**

**27.12. 01:31 PM T: Are we good, Sarah Geraldine Rosenstein? I bet you are ancient by now and have gone on to grad school or something. Hey, are you a scientist now?**

**27.12. 01:31 PM T: That would be really cool. And mansplaining.**

**27.12. 01:31 PM T: Wait is it mansplaining if seven years ago you were asking for help and I answered even though you are some badass particle science major now?**

**27.12. 01:32 PM T: Btw it is totally fine if you are not, I mean. A scientist.**

**27.12. 01:32 PM T: But if you actually were, it would be really really cool.**

**27.12. 01:33 PM T: Merry belated Christmas, btw.**

After this now second foot-mouth-insertion during one wake-sleep-cycle, Tony is granted a miracle. Mystery guy/badass particle physics chick/Geraldine actually answers, and does not do it with the PDF of a cease-and-desist notice. _I take it back, this one must have some really bad taste._

**28.12. 04:32 AM SGR: Thanks, you too.**

**28.12. 04:40 AM SGR: I did not go on to grad school, no. Just kind of between jobs right now, so I decided to clean up a little bit. That is why I went back to this page.**

**28.12. 04:45 AM SGR: Sorry, I am afraid I cannot help you with the mansplaining issue.**

**28.12. 04:45 AM SGR: But there is[this chart](https://twitter.com/kimgoodwin/status/1020029572266438657) I was recommended once by my colleague. I think it says that you did no mansplaining.**

**28.12. 04:46 AM SGR: But if you think that is wrong, I am certain you can explain it to me.**

***

One 3D model of a new joint for dummy (that will let his arm rotate 360 instead of 180 degrees, _so awesome_ ) later, Tony remembers he has not replied. _Damn._ Hopefully, it won't seem like he spent six hours pondering over a witty comeback. Ok _no_ , that seems unlikely even in the context of such limited data.

**28.12. 01:00 PM T: That is some serious sass, Sarah Geraldine.**

**28.12. 01:30 PM SGR: Yes I do that sometimes.**

_Hotdamn._

**29.12. 00:02 AM T: So, I know “don’t tell people your name on the internet” but so what, unless you name is super unique and you add all other kinds of compromising info, who can even find you without hacking your location**

**29.12. 00:02 AM T: And I mean if someone is hacking your location…**

**29.12. 00:04 AM T: Anyway, name’s Tony.**

**29.12. 00:04 AM T: Since we are doing this.**

**29.12. 00:05 AM T: Talking-to-stranger-danger thing.**

**29.12. 00:06 AM T: I mean I am.**

**29.12. 00:12 AM T: Are we?**

No they apparently are not. Was that a come-on? Looks like a come-on, maybe. Shit. He turns back to dummy's loss function. Some hours later, another miracle happens.

**29.12. 05:30 AM SGR: God knows why but yes, apparently.**

**29.12. 05:35 AM SGR: You can call me Steve. Nice to meet you.**

**29.12. 05:38 AM T: Okay I honestly cannot tell whether you are being super generic on purpose here but hey I can live with that. So you identify as male, I guess? Just wanting to know whether your mansplaining source is legit.**

**29.12. 05:40 AM SGR: It’s twitter. You tell me.**

**29.12. 05:41 AM T: May I call you Captain Sassypants?**

**29.12. 05:42 AM SGR: Do I get to choose? You seem to be leading 90% of the conversation.**

**29.12. 05:43 AM SGR: But if I do, I take Geraldine over Captain.**

**29.12. 05:44 AM T: What, got a problem with the military?**

***

Steve has stopped answering again. Who knows, maybe the guy’s sleep schedule is just another brand of fucked up orthogonal to Tony’s and he just went to sleep. Tony splashes some water in his face, makes himself another coffee and turns back to his computer. His phone vibrates.

**29.12. 06:05 AM SGR: Do you?**

**29.12. 06:07 AM T: My best friend wants to join the Air Force, if I disliked the Army, we already would have had some serious beef I think.**

**29.12. 06:07 AM T: Which we did not have.**

**29.12. 06:07 AM T: So I don’t dislike them?**

**29.12. 06:08 AM T: Anyway, no more particle physics, shame. Why not?**

**29.12. 06:15 AM SGR: The class was fascinating, but I only took it because of a friend. I left college with a bachelor in engineering and psychology.**

**29.12. 06:19 AM SGR: I have been working mostly with people since graduating.**

**29.12. 06:21 AM T: If you are looking on advice for how to better work with people, I am definitely the wrong address. People usually make it a point NOT to work with me.**

**29.12. 06:22 AM SGR: I have not idea how you behave offline but you seem alright to me.**

Wow. Ok, that was... unexpected...ly nice?

**29.12. 06:30 AM T: Not fishing for compliments here. I just don’t play well with others. The cold hard truth, welcome to adult life, yadda yadda. Sry have to go a little, sya.**

**30.12. 12:01 AM T: Your friend has good taste by the way, to bully you into astrophysics.**

***

One whole day of nothing. Nada. Even _Tony_ notices it when the sun has gone round the sky and come back up again. Usually. Well, the working high is starting to fade, and the corners of his eyes itch. As does his chin. _Yuck._

**31.12. 11:50 AM T: Hey, are you still here?**

**31.12. 03:20 PM T: Ok. I bored you or something. Cool.**

The lab is closed and he cannot test any of the new parameters. Annoying, annoying, but not _that_ annoying, because he is itching in at least three places, and that is _more_ annoying. Steve is not writing back. That one is neutral evil. Time to hit that shower.

**01.01. 00:01 AM T: Have a happy new year, Geraldine!!**

Has he finished that Yamazaki yet. He cannot find the bottle at all, so the answer to the question is probably quantum. The problem can be solved by taking Rhodey's cheap stuff and mixing it with corn syrup.

**01.01. 02:57 AM T: What are you wearing Stevie**

***

Rhodey comes home late in the evening of the second of January. He makes it as far as the door, where he takes off his boots. Then he sees the living room, with Tony, bent over a desk littered with crusted coffee mugs, chocolate wrappers, and a bottle of amber liquid handily placed next to the keyboard. It is three-quarter empty, and vaguely familiar. Pizza cartons and Styrofoam containers with dried out soy sauce at the edges adorn the coffee table. The fancy Japanese bottle of expensive _something_ Rhodey had been eyeing for weeks before leaving has disappeared.

He crosses the room behind one of the couches and waves his hand at the side of Tony’s field of vision. After Tony has taken out his earbuds, Rhodey lets his gaze travel across the whole scene again and says: “Are we filming an episode of ‘Heir and Loathing’ I did not know about?” Tony cocks his head and says pleasantly. “How long have you been wanting to say this?” Silence. “For real, did you prepare it or did you just come up with this, all _spontaneous-like_? I can think of either way. By the way, I am deeply wounded, Raoul, there is not even cocaine here right now.”

Rhodey does not reply to this, just drops his duffel bag onto one of the couches. "Seriously Tones, what is this? We are not due any project. What are you doing?”

“Just exorcising that good ol’ Christmas spirit as fast as possible. By the way, my mom might send you a giftcard from Ralph Lauren the next few days.” Rhodey’s eyes widen at the implication. “Wait, is your mom trying to buy me again, Tony? What have you done this time?” “I was the bigger person for once. Do we need to talk about this? Can we not talk about this? I am sure we will never need to talk about this. Anyway, I have been snowed under with work and I have bigger problems right now.”

“Do I want to know this.”

“I drunk-sexted someone who may or may not be named Geraldine.”

Rhodey picks the duffel bag up again. “Sounds normal for you. Can I go to my room now Tony?”

“Ok sexting sounds too _crude_. I maybe, kind of, a little, flirted towards the end? You know I can never tell. Just a little. And now he has stopped answering for over a day.”

Rhodey has stopped in his tracks for the third time since he entered the apartement. “ … He, like _Geraldine_.”

“ _Fogeddaboudit._ It’s a joke. Maybe. I don’t _know_.”

Rhodey seems to give up on getting to his room before one AM without having listened to Tony, and switches gears. He drops the duffel bag into his room, comes back and sits down on the couch furthest away from the _pizza monument_. “Ok, I will drop the Geraldine thing for now. Have you ever considered that he might be with family?” Tony starts walking back and forth in the space between the sofa and the desk. No, family just cannot be the reason. “That can’t be it, he can’t be with family, we talked all over Christmas and at all kinds of hours, why would he suddenly be too busy now?”

“Did you ever consider that there are some people out there who do not care about Christmas?” Tony puts the PC screens to sleep and throws himself onto the couch next to Rhodey, rubs his left eye with the ball of his thumb. He sighs. That reason seems far too optimistic. “Or maybe he just realised that he was texting a seventeen-year old kid and got disgusted. _Classic._ Why am I even surprised that this is my life _of course_ this is my – ”

Rhodey goes rigid next to him.

“Wait wait wait no. NO. I did not send _dic pics_ to the guy I met in an particle physics thread. I was not _that_ drunk. Most of the time. _I just_ _asked_ _him_ _whathewaswearing.”_

Rhodey clearly is an evil genius. He also understands Tony-speak at factor x1.7. “I leave town for one week and you start sexting a guy you met on an astrophysics thread.”

“His name is Steve, or Geraldine.”

“Thanks Tony, that is helpful.”

Truly a helpful person, Tony supplies: “Also, he is probably ancient. Please bless our union, honeybear. But please don’t give me the talk again.”

Rhodey’s mouth opens. Then he takes in the general aspect of Tony and of the living room. He closes his mouth. He exhales. “How about a coffee, Tony? And maybe even go to bed before you have it? I really think waking up in the morning and not three PM would be a good change for you.” Tony stretches out across the remainder of the couch. “Morning shmorning. You know there is this whole _eagles and pigeons_ thing. Owls! Owls and doves. Anyway, ‘morning’ is an arbitrary point in time that occurs after waking and before sleeping, so I have been getting up in the morning for my whole life Rhodey and I have to finish this draft before I pass out and forget everything about it, so can you make me a coffee, please? _Please?”_

Rhodey sighs again. But he also makes the coffee, because that happens to you after you survive life with Tony Stark for two years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last of Tony's attempts at naming Steve is a pun of the Japanese sentence “Sasuke no gokazoku ga shinu”, which means “Sasuke’s family dies”.


	6. Pulse.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Away from baseline, and back again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating does not change in this chapter, but scroll down for trigger warnings if you want them.

**Earth, Northern Hemisphere, Boston, Cambridge, t-2.**

Tony is on the main floor when he notices that he has lost Rhodey. He does not particularly worry about it – they will find each other again, later. Also, he is certain that if things are progressing for Rhodey as they should, his friend is right now as much in need of a wingman as he is of a third wheel. Time to find some temporary friends, and get more liquor in. He is not nearly drunk enough to start dancing to this top-40s shit, but he is getting there. _Positive thinking._

Base pulses through the soles of his shoes into his rib cage as he makes his way over to the bar. Elbows and backs keep getting in his way, _incredibly_ annoying, which is another sign that Tony _really_ needs those drinks. He spots a group of college kids to his right and follows them. Not that he is worried that his fake ID will not make the cut, since it got him in. Not to make conversation, either. What he needs is a group of ‘friends’ so that the bartender will hand him two shots without asking.

Tony has just finished downing the second one when there is a hand on his shoulder. He turns.

Some guy in his mid-twenties, nice shirt, chinos. One of the college students he just followed. They are still standing next to the bar, looking at him with bemused expressions. _Harvard_ _sophomore_ _s_ _._ He tunes back in to what the guy in front of him is saying “… not like we haven’t been there, but you know that you can’t just use other people for underage drinking, right?” Tony did _not_ sign up for this. He whips the ID out of his breast pocket and waves it. “I know I look like I just tumbled out of kindergarten, _thanks_. You also want to see the _dual_ _master’ s_ _degree_ I am currently finishing?” Harvard guy visibly bows to academic seniority, apologises, introduces his friends – also Harvard Law – and asks if Tony wants to join them at their table, but Tony is just _not_ feeling it, so he claims he has to check on a friend and leaves for the main floor again.

***

He is back, moving through the crowd in time with the beat, looking for people to dance with. The mass of bodies parts only reluctantly for him, but that is already less annoying to him than it was twenty minutes ago. _Good._

Around him, shirtsleeves and short dresses, tech, finance and young professionals, grinding against each other under strobe lights. Bottle service. Bright grins. Over the sound system he hears a voice sing at him “Hey, what’s your name” and he has to think of Steve. Would he have kept talking if he knew Tony’s full name? Would he feel at home, in a place like this? Dance with Tony? He sounds like a nice guy. _Obviously, n_ _ot the kind to_ _touch_ _a seventeen-year old._ The fantasy immediately evaporates. Why can’t Tony just get out of his head for once, _dammit._ As much as being a prodigy has its perks, this is _not_ one of them. No matter what he does he just cannot seem to lose himself; his brain just. Cannot. Shut. Up. It has been two days since Rhodey came back and five since Steve’s last message and he is _done_ moping over what is _probably a middle-aged high school_ _science_ _teacher_ _._

Yeah, that is a good bad picture to get back to reality.

The beat starts to seep into his legs and propels them into motion, the alcohol is _finally_ hitting his brain and Tony can feel his shoulders loosen. _Good._

_***_

After some wandering, he finds a group of happy, giggly girls in neon tube tops that adopt him, obviously thinking he is gay. No need to correct them right now. They yell their names at him, he yells his back. When the girls take a bathroom break –together– they grab him and take him into the powder room with them. They share their eyeliner with him and a yellow pill. By the time they are back at their old spot, he feels more awake than he has the entire evening. The music is so loud that everything is quiet, like an aquarium. Everyone is moving with the beat. Complex, endless patterns repeat. The girls smile and his body tingles all over. He suddenly feels connected to them, to Melissa, Jess and Tanya. He gets it. He gets it. They are way more fun and nice and pretty than the other groups around and he just dances. Dances.

***

He is at a house party, _after party, they all had to leave at 2 AM,_ somewhere close to Boston College. He thinks he has texted Rhodey. _Has he?_ The air is hazy with smoke or maybe that is just his vision. He is thirsty. Suddenly, he is in the kitchen and he does not know how he got there. He feels awake though. There is only one other person here, a guy with a half-open Hawaiian shirt by the sink. He fills a glass with water, hands it to Tony. Their fingers touch and Tony drains the glass. The man’s eyes sparkle. “Thirsty?” _Very._ Tony follows him to the bathroom.

***

Tony wakes up with a crick in his neck. The air is stale and his face feels raw. He calls a cab via GPS while he picks his way to the apartment door across bodies in various states of unconscious and/or undress. There could be a reporter out there, on the other side of the door. He cannot bring himself to care. He might even do the nation a favour, distracting them from the Holiday Domestic Abuse Statistics for a day or two.

Back at the flat, he finds Rhodey who has passed out on the larger couch with his shoes still on, downs an aspirin with a glass of Gatorade and heads straight to bed.

When Tony wakes again, the way his bed is empty is so bad it hurts. As he closes his eyes against the light, he can feel his throat closing up and suddenly his chest feels like his inner organs are too big for him, trying to escape his rib cage; he can barely breathe. The sudden, _crushing_ need to feel someone close, to just touch someone’s _face,_ is overwhelming. So pathetic in its innocence, like the worst kind of puppy love. _Just to have someone to touch._

Without really thinking about it, he strokes his fingers along his cheekbone to his jaw, closes his eyes, imagining it were someone else... and it is the worst kind of thing Rhodey has walked in on yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings, in order of appearance:  
> -use of recreational drugs akin to MDMA while drunk  
> -allusion to sexual acts of uncertain nature under drug/alcohol influence  
> -mild anxiety and feelings of loneliness after coming down from a high.
> 
> If you think I missed something, please let me know in the comments.


End file.
